


Fear for the Lions

by LuckyClo4



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Broken Bones, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slavery, Tagging as I go, first fallout fic, maybe non-con, wrote this on a whim tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyClo4/pseuds/LuckyClo4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gob is bought by a blonde named Cherry for a punching bag, as a present to her younger brother. Gob is convinced he won't last two days. Will Gob survive long enough to find love?</p><p>Who knows I only have one chapter written so far lmao</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear for the Lions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, nerds. This is my first Fallout fic. I haven't actually played it so if there are any bugs lemme know.
> 
> This will be rewritten soon.

“Hey smoothskin, do you need something? A drink maybe? Anything? Anything at all?” Gob stuttered politely and was met with a hard glare.

“Can it, zombie.” Cherry snapped. “I'll choose when I want.”

Gob nodded. She stared at him until he looked away, and laughed cruelly when he did.

“Fill this with vodka.” She put the flask in his hand roughly.

“We don't sell that cheap.” He warned testily, not thinking of the consequences.

Cherry lunged across the table, catching him by the collar and digging her nails into his skin. “Did I ask you?” She asked through gritted teeth. “Get it to me before I break your face.”

He nodded, and Cherry let go. Gob practically ran to the back, rubbing his neck. *That* wouldn't go away quickly.

Cherry was a regular at the bar, jeering at Gob whenever she could. She had gotten the nickname from the bandana that she kept either around her head or in her pocket. If you looked close, you could see that some of the red spots weren't cherries. She looked like a waitress, white apron drawn up tight around her red shirt and black pants. Two pigtails trailed down her back.

She handed a small bag over to Moriarty, and his grin widened as he looked inside, nodding. Gob walked up, handing her the flask. She grabbed it, taking a swig.

“Gob, give Miss Carla whatever she wants, free of charge.” Gob nodded, reaching for a glass when it happened. He knocked over Moriarty's flask.

Moriarty treated that flask like a child, making sure it wasn't dented, polishing it, even putting it under his pillow when he slept. It was one of his only pre-war possessions, given to him by his best friend. If Gob even looked at the flask, he was guaranteed a beating.

Gob was as good as dead. Moriarty looked at him, a deadly glint in his eye. He slowly picked up the flask. A small dent was on the side, and Moriarty smiled a dangerous smile.

“Gob, go up to the room.” He nodded, dread pooling in his stomach. This was bad. This was *very *bad. He could kiss his freedom (and a few of his limbs) goodbye.

Gob didn't even have time to sit when he heard the door open. The cold barrel of a gun was pushed to his back, and he froze.

“D-don't shoot me! Please! Just tell me what you want.” He trembled.

“Why would I shoot my own property?” A female voice purred. His blood turned to ice.

Cherry held up the contract as he slowly turned around. “Bought and paid for.”

As his panicked expression, she laughed. “Oh, don't look so down. I've seen how you can take a hit; you'll be perfect as a punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“My brother needs a bit more training, and he keeps breaking the bags.” She tsked. “So I've been bringing him more...lively prey. Ghouls. Slaves. Basic scum-of-the-earth.” She nudged him, and somehow, he got his feet to move. “And you, my dear, fit the bill perfectly.”

They walked down the steps, where Moriarty waited. Gob gulped as his former master cracked his knuckles.

“Now, remember, if he needs it to walk at a decent pace, don't damage it. Otherwise, he's all yours.” Gob braced himself for impact as Moriarty rolled up his sleeves.

A broken arm, multiple bruises, a few lashes, a broken jaw, mangled ribs, and two black eyes later, they were on the road. Gob shambled at a decent enough pace as Cherry walked behind him, holding him at gunpoint.

They stopped twice, once because Cherry had to reapply her lipstick, and twice because they had spotted a radiated lake, and Gob used it to heal some minor bruises and cuts, the bones needing to be set.

“Well, here we are. The Nettle family household.” The house was small, and Gob found himself wondering how they survived with no storage space.

His questions were answered when Carla opened the door to the underground.

“Well, go on.” Her foot tapped impatiently. He slowly made his way down the ladder, Cherry close behind.

The underground bunker was large. It smelled of metal and had a cold, eerie feeling about it. A long hallway led to all kinds of different doors. One held cans. One held a bedroom. And one held....

He stopped at the end. A man was beating a punching bag. A thin layer of sweat coated his brow as he roundhouse kicked his target. In one fell swoop, it was in half. Gob felt his heart skip a few beats.

He wouldn't last two days.

“Baby bro!” Cherry called. The man stopped, allowing both people to get a better look at him.

He was tall. Tough. His dark black hair contrasted his light blue eyes. A scar reached up under his eyepatch, mouth twisted into what appeared to be a permanent frown.

Cherry pushed Gob forward. “Your new punching bag. He's right on the edge of feral.”

The man stepped closer, and Gob found himself wanting to step back. A gun to his back stopped him as Cherry casually looked at her nails. The man stood directly in front of Gob, sizing him up.

On a good day, Gob would lose after about an hour of fighting. Now, though, with his injuries, he would be dead within ten minutes. The man slowly nodded.

“Bring him into the ring, then.” He turned, mumbling something that sounded like 'feral bastard'. Gob relaxed, only for duct tape to be slapped onto his mouth.

“Can't have you biting, now can we?” She said in an unnaturally high voice. She gave him a couple pieces of duct tape.

“Use these for whatever. Makes it more interesting.” He quickly taped his broken arm, hoping it would hold. Hesitantly, he walked up into the ring.

“Have fun up against Baz!” Cherry grinned. And with those words, the fight began.


End file.
